


Brandon's Bastard

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Jon is raised as Brandon's bastard not Ned's, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-03-07 21:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18881530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: Ned held the babe close to his chest. He was a quiet child, Ned Stark’s nephew, rarely crying or squealing. Even now, with the rage being thrown at both the babe and Ned, Jon slept peacefully.“How dare you?!” Catelyn Stark yelled. Her face was white, making her blue eyes shine eerily. “How dare you bring that - that abomination into my home and tell me it will live with us? How dare you Ned Stark?” Her own son, Ned’s son, was away with a wet nurse at present.Ned could feel his own rage welling in his chest. He knew he must stand here and take this. Must accept the yelling and the rage and the snide comments about the fall of honour during war, but he did not want to accept it from his wife. This woman he barely knew, this woman he would have to build a life with, this woman he hoped to love and cherish and be loved and cherished in return.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was prompt on Tumblr and then it kind of took on a life of it's own so I decided to post it here. Please forgive my mistakes, my work is not beta'd.

Ned held the babe close to his chest. He was a quiet child, Ned Stark’s nephew, rarely crying or squealing. Even now, with the rage being thrown at both the babe and Ned, Jon slept peacefully. 

 

“How dare you?!” Catelyn Stark yelled. Her face was white, making her blue eyes shine eerily. “How dare you bring that - that abomination into my home and tell me it will live with us? How dare you Ned Stark?” Her own son, Ned’s son, was away with a wet nurse at present. 

 

Ned could feel his own rage welling in his chest. He knew he must stand here and take this. Must accept the yelling and the rage and the snide comments about the fall of honour during war, but he did not want to accept it from his wife. This woman he barely knew, this woman he would have to build a life with, this woman he hoped to love and cherish and be loved and cherished in return. 

 

_ Promise me, Ned. _

 

Aye he had promised, promised to keep the boy safe, to hid him from Robert’s wrath. But Catelyn wasn’t Robert. Catelyn was a sweet and loyal soul. Brandon has said so. Brandon, his dead brother, the man meant to be Catelyn Tully’s husband had extolled her virtues, past the physical, naming her kind and loyal and loving. But she wasn’t a Tully anymore, she was a Stark. He had drapped his cloak of protection over her and in so doing draped his honour, his family over her too. Catelyn deserved to know her family. 

 

_ Fuck it. _

 

“He’s not mine Cat.” Ned’s voice was clear and firm.

 

“What?” 

 

“He’s not mine.” Ned repeated. He met her cool blue eyes. “He’s Lyanna’s. Lyanna’s boy. She didn’t even get to name him proper. Just told me to take care of him, that he was Rhaegar's. She made me promise. Promise to protect him, to keep him safe.”

 

_ Promise me, Ned. _

 

“And I did. I promised. I lied. I lied to everyone, but I can’t lie to you.” Catelyn’s eyes were now fixed on the tuft of brown hair that poked out above the blanket the boy was wrapped in. She stepped forward. 

 

“He’s a Targaryen?” She asked, her hand reaching out and gently cupping the babe’s head.

 

“He’s a Stark.” Ned replied. 

 

“Aye, he might be, but we shan’t tell people that.” Catelyn took the babe from Ned’s arms and gently began to rock him. 

 

“We shall protect him. Keep him safe. He is our family, Ned.” Catelyn was still looking at the boy in her arms and Ned’s heart seemed to swell. 

 

_ Family, duty, honour. Of course she’ll protect the boy. _

 

“But he can’t be your bastard.” 

 

“Then who can he be?” Ned asked.

 

“He shall be Brandon’s bastard.” Catelyn replied. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Many had called him mad, for taking in his elder brother’s bastard son. And as Jon grew and had the Stark look many said Catelyn was still in love with Brandon and loved Jon for his father. 

 

Neither of these sentiments was true. 

 

Ned loved Jon as a nephew, cared for him, and raised him to love his family. Jon could be no threat to his own son’s claims on Winterfell, he was a bastard after all, but Ned raised Jon to be a good Lord and would endow him with his own land when he was of a suitable age. 

 

Catelyn loved Jon as a nephew and thought he looked more like Ned than Brandon. She did not mourn the husband she had never had when she looked at Jon, she celebrated the trust and love in the husband she did have. 

Both agreed it was too dangerous to legitimise Jon. It could endanger their own son’s claim, but more importantly it could endanger Jon’s life. Robert Baratheon may be drunk with victory and power and wine but his head would clear and they did not fancy the King’s reaction should he stare into those dark grey eyes and see they were a truly deep purple. 

 

And then, one cool summer day they received a raven announcing the death of Jon Arryn and the imminent arrival of the King, both Lord and Lady Stark felt fear in their hearts. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“He’s offering a betrothal.” Ned murmured, staring out the open window of Cat’s bedroom. He felt her arms wrap around his waist and her lips pressed to his shoulder. 

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Aye. He wants me to bring her south if I become Hand.”

 

“If?” 

 

He smiled as he felt her shiver. All these years in the north and she still shivered in the summer snows, still craved the heat of a fire, still buried herself under piles and piles of furs. 

 

“He can ask. I need not say yes.” He turned and wrapped his arms around her. “He was asking about Jon too.” He watched his wife’s frown deepen. “He wanted to talk about taking the boy as a squire, honouring Brandon and his memory. Even suggest Jon might become a knight.” 

 

“He can’t, Ned. He can’t have our family.” She was scowling. “He can’t have Sansa, he can’t have Jon and he can’t have you.” She looked up into his eyes and he loved her a little more. She was strong and loving and fierce. “If neither Sansa nor Jon can go south, and you refuse due to some pretext, duty to Winterfell or Wildling raids or something, will he understand? Will he be satisfied?”

 

Ned thought of the Robert Baratheon he’d known, the man who loved with his whole heart, the man who was brave and fearless, the man who’d gone to war for what he thought was his. 

 

“He may not accept my remaining in the North.” He squeezed his wife closer to him. “But he won't take Jon or Sansa if I can help it. 

 

_ Promise me, Ned. _

 

“He won't take any of you, if  _ I _ can help it.” Cat muttered, moving toward her bed, a scowl on her face.  _ She’s a she-wolf protecting her pups. _ Ned thought and moved to join her. 

 

“And how do you plan to stop the King from taking what he wants?” He pulled her to him and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 

 

“I’ll say ‘listen hear Fat Man-” She poked Ned’s chest to indicate what she’d do. “You can’t have my children, you can’t have my nephew, and you most certainly cannot have my husband.” 

 

Ned chuckled at her ferocity, even in jest.

 

“He’d be a brave man to try and defy you, Cat.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You’re to marry Sansa?” Robb asked, dropping his sword in shock and thus allowing Jon to land a blow. Jon smiled at his small victory. 

 

“Don’t drop your sword!” Ser Rodrik shouted. “If that was live steel he’d have had your arm off!” Robb scowled and lunged for his cousin, Jon danced away gracefully, and almost hit Robb again, but Robb managed to bring his shield up to deflect the blow. 

 

“Aye, your father told me. He means to settle lands and a keep on me.” 

 

“I knew he’d always meant to do that.” Robb replied. “But marry Sansa?” Jon shrugged. 

 

“He didn’t demand we marry, but-” Jon thought back to the look on his uncle and his aunt’s face as they suggested Sansa and he could be betrothed within a week. “They strongly suggested it.” 

 

“They?” Robb asked, swiping for Jon’s legs, before twirling the blade and almost hitting Jon’s unprotected forearm. 

 

“Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn.”

 

“Of course Mother’s involved.” Robb sighed, exasperated at the matchmaking of his mother. “I can talk to them if you like. Maybe they’ll marry you off to a Karstark, I hear Alys has grown quite pretty.” 

 

“You sound like your mother.” Jon jeered. 

 

“I do not!” Robb cried, momentarily forgetting they were training, and allowing Jon to land another blow.

 

“Pull your head out of the snow, Young Master Robb!” Rodrick called. Robb raised a hand in apology, but dropped his blunted sword to the ground, knowing he must leave and join his father to learn about the ledges of Winterfell soon. 

 

“I’m just offering, I imagine it’s weird. Sansa grew up with you.” Robb said, glancing at Jon who sliced at the air with effortless grace. 

 

“She never treated me like you and the others.” Jon offered. “Not badly, just not the same. More like a friend, or a ward.” He chuckled before adding. “Nicer than she treats Theon, at least.” 

 

“That’s because Theon’s a right prat.” Robb laughed. 

 

“Theon has very good hearing and is more popular with the ladies than either of you two pricks.” Theon’s voice taunted from behind Robb where he was practising his archery. 

 

“It’s not popularity if you have to pay for it.” Robb called. Theon made and obscene gesture at both Robb and Jon before resuming his own practise. Robb chuckled and turned back to Jon. 

 

“Are you okay with it?” Robb asked, searching his cousin’s eyes for a trace of discomfort. He knew Jon would answer that he was fine with the betrothal, because Jon felt a sense of duty or honour to accept anything and everything the Stark’s gave him, even if he would not have chosen it for himself. But Robb loved his cousin like a brother, and he did not want to see two for the people he loved, trapped in something terrible because his parents wanted Jon to have a claim in the North. 

 

“Aye.” Jon answered with the hint of a smile on his lips. “If Sansa is.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“How is he taking the news of Sansa’s betrothal?” Cat asked, watching as her husband paced in front of the fireplace. 

 

“Robert has no problem with  _ that _ , he suggested a betrothal between Bran and Myrcella, or Tommen and Arya. No, he has no problem with that. He wishes to honour Jon and Sansa, and Brandon’s memory, by gifting them-” Ned let out a chuckle that held no mirth. “By gifting them Summerhall, to rebuild and replace the ghosts of dragons with little wolves. According to the King.” 

 

And Catelyn almost joined her husband in his laughter. 

 

“And what did you say?” 

 

“I said that Jon would be honoured, but he would need to think about it. As Summerhall is far from his family, he’d have no support.”

 

“Sansa would love the South.” Catelyn supplied. She stood and walked toward her husband. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed gentle kisses between his shoulder blades. “Perhaps it’s something they should discuss together, as future husband and wife?” 

 

“Aye.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “They can choose, but I’m staying here.”

 

“Bad things happen to Stark men in the South.” She whispered against his skin. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Sansa?” She looked up with bright blue eyes and smiled at him. 

 

“Jon.” 

 

“Do you mind if I join you?” She nodded and moved to make space on the large rock at the base of the heart tree. He sat next to her and felt a queer fluttering in his stomach as his leg brushed hers. 

 

“Did your father tell you of the offer the King made for us?” Her smiled brightened at the use of the word ‘us’.

 

“Yes, but he said we had to make the choice as we are to be-” She stopped here and Jon noticed a blush making its way across her cheeks. “As we are to be wed.” Her eyes were fixed on her hands and suddenly Jon did not care about discussing the logistics of a move, or the struggles of repairing a ruin, or the myths of ghosts and magic that surrounded Summerhall. He wanted to know Sansa. 

 

“Do you want to?” He asked, willing her to look at him. 

 

“Live in Summerhall?” She asked, still refusing to meet his gaze. 

 

“Marry me?” He clarified, feeling his hands shaking and his heart thumping. He had always admired Sansa, since he was old enough to understand love. He’s thought her graceful, and beautiful, and kind, and far far above anything a bastard cousin could ever hope for. 

 

Her eyes shot up and met his. Those beautiful, blue, Tully eyes. She smiled and reached a hand out to gently cup his cheek. 

 

“I want to marry you. I wanted to marry you when I watched you and Arya sneak away so you could teach her how to fight. I wanted to marry you when you gave your boots to a boy in Wintertown because he needed them and you had another pair. I wanted to marry you since you were the Prince of Dragonflies and I was Jenny of Oldstones and you crowned me your one true love, and kissed my hand so gallantly. I’ve wanted to marry you for as long as I can remember, Jon.” 

 

“Oh.” His heart seemed to by racing in his chest and flying above him like a dragon. He smiled and slowly, so slowly he moved toward her. He wanted her to be able to pull away, half expected her to laugh in his face and call him a depraved bastard like some of the crueler children in Wintertown. But she didn’t, she wouldn’t. She leant forward too, until her lips met his and Jon was sure his heart had stopped beating entirely. Their mouths moved together in a dance that Jon didn’t know the steps to, but still felt right. His hand came up to tangle in her hair and the other grasped at Sansa’s waist as she tilted her head ever so slightly and he felt her tongue brush his lip. Eventually they pulled away, both a little breathless, both entirely happy.

 

Sansa’s lips were swollen, and her mouth was pink, but she was grinning at him and her thumb brushed his cheek. He lent into her touch. 

 

“I love you, Sansa Stark.” 

 

“I love you, Jon Snow.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally continued this prompt after getting afew people asking for me to. I have a vague idea of a plot but have two other WIPS that I need to work on so I'm not promising any updates soon. 
> 
> I have aged up the characters a bit (Sansa 18, Jon 20) and the timeline is a bit fuzzy (please forgive me). Also Sansa may seem a little more her cannon compliant self (clever, politically minded) but I did this because of her increase in age and where she is in her life. If it seems OOC I apologise. 
> 
> This is also one of the first few stories I've written with smut. I hope it's okay and not too cringe. I am aware it's probably a little smooth running considering it's their first time, but I didn't want to write something massively awkward because I was already a little nervous about this. 
> 
> Anywho! Enough of my apologise. Enjoy! :)

Jon’s breath caused a fog in front of him as he waited in the Godswood. The King stood at the base of the Heart tree.

 

“ _ I knew your father well, lad.” The king had said clasping Jon’s shoulder. “He was a brave man, a good man, he’d be proud of you.” These words would have warmed Jon all over if he could not smell the wine on the King’s breath. “In another life I would be your uncle.”  _

 

And now King Robert stood where his father should have.

 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” The King’s voice boomed in the quiet of the Godswood. Even his voice felt strange in this ancient and sacred place. He did not belong here, but Jon did. Sansa did. And soon they would belong together. 

 

“Sansa of House Stark.” Came Eddard Stark’s stoic tones. His voice, whilst lacking the volume of the King’s was still heard by all, and Jon suspected, heard by the Gods as well. “A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” 

 

Jon’s throat felt dry and thick as he spoke the words he’d worried and fretted about. 

 

_ “I cannot- I’m a bastard Sansa.” He’d whispered to her as they sat close. “I cannot declare myself for a house, I have no claim to nobility. How can I take you when you are-” She had pressed a small and cold finger to his lips.  _

 

_ “You are Jon Snow, a man of honour and bravery. Lord of Summerhall and only son of Brandon Stark.” She’d whispered before pressing her lips to his quickly. “I am honoured to be your wife.” _

 

“Jon Snow. Lord of Summerhall and only son of Brandon Stark. Who gives her?” His voice did not quaver or falter. 

 

“Eddard of House Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Sansa’s father.” Eddard leant forward and kissed his daughter’s cheek for gently placing Sansa’s hand in Jon’s. Sansa offered him a small smile and he smiled back. 

 

“Lady Sansa, will you take this man?” King Robert said in his loud voice. It was almost clipped short by Sansa’s response. 

 

“I take this man.” She smiled at Jon before turning her back to him. He reached up and took the cloak with the Stark sigil from her shoulders handing it to her father. He took his own cloak from his shoulders. 

 

_ There was a knock on his chamber door.  _

 

_ “Come in!” Jon called, pulling his shirt on over his head.  _

 

_ “Jon.” He turned to face his aunt. She was standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face, a folded cloak in her arms. “I have a gift for you.” She moved toward him, placing the cloak on the edge of his bed. She began to tie the laces on his shirt as she had when he was a child. _

 

_ “Thank you, my lady.” She gave him a soft smile.  _

 

_ “Do you remember when you stopped calling me Aunt Cat?” She asked, straightening the laces of his shirt. He shook his head.  _

 

_ “When one of the sons of Lord Umber told you that you were a bastard and should hide yourself and your shame if you loved your family.” She cupped his cheek in her hand.  _

 

_ “I found you crying in the Godswood. You told me that you loved us so much, that you had plans to run away, but being only eight years old, had decided to ask me for advice where to run.” _

 

_ Jon let out a bark of laughter.  _

 

_ “It was either North, to the Night’s Watch with your Uncle Benjen. Or South, to Dorne where you would become a fierce warrior.” She brought her other hand up to cup his other cheek. “I told you that you could run if you wished, but your family would miss you, that you were never a shame to us, just a boy with a lovely smile and a big heart. You hugged me and told me you loved me. But you never called me Aunt Cat afterwards.”  _

 

_ “I’m sorry.” He whispered.  _

 

_ “You are a good and honourable man, Jon and you will be the best good-son a mother could wish for.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, an action she had not done since he was a child plagued by nightmares. She turned from him and picked up the cloak she had brought with her. “You cannot drape Sansa in the protection of your father’s house, but you can protect her with your own.” She faced him and unfurled the cloak. _

 

_ It was darkest black, a lone direwolf centred. The wolf was white with red eyes. It was almost a Bastard sigil, but not quite.  _

 

_ “Oh, my lad-” he cut himself short. He reached out and traced the snarling face of the wolf, so similar to the Stark sigil. “Thank you, Aunt Cat.”   _

 

The cloak hung off Sansa’s shoulder and she turned back to Jon, her smile shining. They clasped hands and bowed before the Heart tree, heads bent in prayer. There was silence except for the rustling of the leaves and the gentle breath of Jon and Sansa. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The wedding feast was loud and hot and close. People cheering and drinking and laughing. Sansa sat next to Jon at the head of the dais. It was a position Jon had never occupied before and Sansa kept her hand either clasped in his, or gently resting on his knee to comfort him. He seemed to appreciate this, for multiple times throughout the feast he had brought their twined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. 

 

It was getting late and the feast was becoming raucous.

 

“Perhaps we could retire soon?” Sansa whispered into Jon’s ear. His grey eyes turned to her she saw anxiety in them and excitement. They both knew what would happen tonight.

 

_ “Oh Jon.” Sansa had sighed as his lips pressed against her neck, his teeth nibbling and his tongue soothing. He simply hummed in response. She arched her back, almost feeling ashamed at the wanton desire that wished for Jon’s lips to travel downward to her breasts, for his hands to explore lower than her waist, for him to rock his hips into hers rather than angle them away. Almost ashamed.  _

 

_ She let her hands run through his hair and soon pulled his mouth back to hers, encouraging him to press her against the wall of the ruined tower.  _

 

_ They were safe enough here. Feeling bold, Sansa moved her lips across his cheek and down to his exposed neck, mimicking the minstractions that had made her gasp moment earlier.  _

 

_ “Gods, Sansa.” Jon had gasped out, his hands clutching at her waist. “We should stop before-” _

 

_ She pulled away from his neck and kissed his mouth.  _

 

_ “We’re to be married in two days Jon.” She whispered against his lips. “Just kiss me.”   _

 

There was no bedding ceremony. Her mother and father had agreed and for that Sansa was glad. Maybe when she was younger she would have craved the attention of all present as they drunkenly striped her clothes and grasped her body. But now, all she wanted was Jon. She wanted Jon to be the one to remove her clothing, to gaze at her in that way he did. That gaze that was somewhere between pure lust and reverence. 

 

She sat before the fire, waiting for Jon. Her maid had helped her from her wedding gown and into the delicate and beautiful nightgown she and her mother had made for the wedding. It was white as snow with winter roses embroidered about the neckline and the hem. 

 

_ “Do you think Jon will like it?” She’d asked her mother as they sat together working on it. _

 

_ “I doubt you’ll be wearing it long enough for him to notice it at all!” A noble lady from the queen’s entourage joked. Sansa blushed but Arya spoke. _

 

_ “You don’t know anything about Jon or Sansa so you should keep your mouth shut.” Arya snapped before she shuffled her chair closer to Sansa and their mother, a scowl on her face.  _

 

_ “Arya.” Their mother gently scolded as Arya stabbed her embroidery with a particularly vicious jab. Sansa reached a hand out and squeezed Arya’s.  _

 

_ “You know, Dornish women sometimes learn to fight with sword and staff.” She whispered to Arya. “Even ladies.” Arya’s head snapped up and met Sansa’s gaze. “Perhaps, once Jon and I have settled in Summerhall, you could come and visit us?”  _

 

_ Arya beamed at her. It was a smile that had never been given to Sansa, usually reserved for Jon or their Father. But Sansa had earned it this time.  _

 

“You look beautiful.” Jon’s voice was low and soft. He stood just inside the door. Sansa blushed before patting the fur she had laid before the fire, asking him to sit. He moved toward her with unconscious grace and Sansa admired the line of his hip and the smattering of hair she could see at the opening of his shirt. 

 

“You look handsome.” She replied in a whisper. He sat next to her and without really noticing their movements they soon sat close, leaning on each other. 

 

“You’re my husband.” Sansa whispered, nuzzling into his shoulder.

 

“And you, my wife.” Jon replied, rubbing small circles on her skin with his thumb. Sansa gently kissed the skin at the dip where his neck met his shoulder. 

 

“Well, not for true.” She kissed him again. “Not yet.” She gently nipped at the skin. 

 

“We should remedy that.” Jon murmured, grinning as he turned his head and captured her lips.  

 

_ Sansa had not felt underprepared for her marriage bed as she readied for her wedding. She’d read the books Maester Luwin kept locked away. She’d seen animals coupling. She’d heard the way the kitchen maids and the girls from Wintertown spoke. So when her mother asked to speak with her, Sansa felt prepared for the information Catelyn Stark would impart.  _

 

_ “It may hurt.” Catelyn had said in a tone that held both sympathy and truth. “But it should be pleasurable.”  _

 

_ That had caused Sansa to blush.  _

 

_ “You should not be afraid to talk to Jon during your coupling.” Sansa’s eyes darted around her chambers and she vaguely wondered how her mother was not blushing to the roots of her auburn hair. Sansa certainly was. “Tell him what pleases you. Tell him what you would like. He cannot read your thoughts and only words will help.”  _

 

_ “But-” Sansa wrung her hands wanting to ask but being ashamed. “Is it proper, to want the coupling? To wish to be in his bed?”  _

 

_ Catelyn smiled and reached to hold her daughter’s hand. _

 

_ “Maybe not proper, but it is delightful. Your Father is an excellent listener.”  _

 

_ “Mother!” Sansa cried simultaneously embarrassed and a little happy for her parents.  _

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Jon was whispering against her cheek. One of his hands was low on her hip, the other in her hair. Sansa paused for a moment, biting her lip. She could not lie and say he wouldn’t hurt her, could not lie and say she was not nervous, so she pressed a kiss to his temple before meeting his gaze. 

 

“Show me you love, Jon. Please.” 

 

“But I-” She cut him off with a kiss.

 

“Please.” She whispered against his lips. He kissed her back and soon pulled her so she was straddling his lap. She could feel his manhood pressing against her thigh, but Jon did not seem to concentrate on his own pleasure. Instead he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers, to her cheek, her jaw, down the column of her neck until he reached the sleeves of her nightgown.  

 

His nose brushed her skin as he gently pushed the garment aside, allowing himself access to her skin. Sansa’s hands were tangled in his hair, her head thrown back to allow him access to her neck. When his teeth gently nipped at her collar bone, Sansa’s hips ground into Jon’s and she felt his chest vibrate with a moan. 

 

One of his hands, resting on her hips, squeezed her tight, whilst the other, at her waist, wandered upward until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast through her nightgown.

 

“Jon.” She almost whimpered, before removing her hands from his hair and untying the laces at the neck of her pretty nightgown. Without much care for grace or finesse, Sansa pushed the gown off her shoulder and down her arms, allowing it to pool at her waist. 

 

She felt a moment of embarrassment at her naked flesh, but Jon reached, not for her, but the hem of his own shirt and pulled it up over his head. Their eyes locked for a moment and Sansa smiled before closing the space between them.  Her hands rested on his bare chest, revelling in the warmth of his skin, whilst his hands travelled up her back, pulling, pressing her into him. 

 

Slowly, Jon moved them so Sansa was laying down, her back pressed into the soft fur. His lips left hers to travel downward, pausing at her neck before reaching her breasts. Jon paused here, staring at her body and Sansa felt the urge to cover herself before she heard Jon whisper, as if to himself.

 

“Gods you’re beautiful.” And his lips met her flesh. Her back arched into him when he gently sucked on a nipple, whilst his other hand came to massage her other breast. 

 

“Oh Gods Jon.” She muttered, her back rising, pressing her body into his. “That’s- that’s-” But she never told him what it was because his mouth soon left hers and travelled further down her body, shifting her nightgown downward until he pulled it free from her legs. He quickly pressed his body against hers, covering her with his warmth, before pressing kisses into her ribs, her stomach, her hips. His hands rested on her knees and gently nudged them apart. 

 

Sansa could feel her whole body flush but wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or desire. Jon pressed a kiss over her patch of red hair at the apex of her thighs before moving her lips and kissing her wet flesh. A gasp escaped her and her hips seemed to rise of their own accord, meeting Jon’s mouth.

 

“Jon.” She moaned, as his tongue explored her. Her body seemed to tremble when his tongue passed a certain spot that had ached before when they had been kissing. Remembering to tell Jon what she liked Sansa bit back her embarrassment when his tongue passed that spot again.

 

“There.” She whispered. Jon moaned at her word, as if she’d done something to pleasure him. He moved and hooked her knee over his shoulder before kissing that spot, a little nub of nerves and pleasure. 

 

Sansa grasped the fur between her fingers, her eyes closed, her breath coming in pants. She felt Jon’s finger press against her and wriggled when one pressed inside her. Jon must have taken this as a reluctance or displeasure because he removed the digit.

 

“No.” Sansa moaned, pressing her hips downward slightly, chasing the feeling. “Please, Jon.” His finger returned and Sansa pressed downward, her hand coming into his hair, her fingernails gently scraping his scalp.

 

“Gods Sansa.” He muttered, pressing open mouthed kisses to her cunt. ‘Gods you’re perfect.” 

 

Sansa couldn’t think of anything. She could not think if this was proper, if she was acting shamefully, if Jon thought her wanton and unladylike, all she could think of was Jon’s mouth on her, Jon’s finger in her, Jon’s movements and that she didn’t want him to stop. She needed him to keep going. 

 

“Please.” She moaned, not truly knowing what she was begging for. But Jon knew. Or perhaps he didn’t, perhaps he just followed her gasps and moans and wriggles of pleasure until it seemed to build and build and build and Sansa felt her body tighten and her heartbeat quicken and tension release. 

 

Jon still pressed soft kisses to her, still moving his finger gently inside her as her body trembled with decent from pure pleasure. But soon Sansa needed him. She need Jon and she wanted him. She wanted him to feel the way she had. 

 

Her hands found his hair and shoulder and tugged, pulling his upward. He followed, pausing only to wipe his face on the fur blanket below them. Sansa felt a tug of embarrassment at this, but Jon did not seem to mind. His kissed her breasts and her ribs and her collar bone and upward and he reached her mouth and she moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue. Her hands roamed his back, pressing him into her, until they reached the britches he still wore. Futility she pushed at them, wanting to feel all of Jon pressed against her. 

Jon raised himself up and began to untie his britches. Sansa, realising what he was doing, batted his hands away and her clever fingers made quick work of the knotted laces, before pushing the fabric away. Her finger wrapped cautiously around him and Jon’s head fell onto her shoulder. 

 

“I-” She began, wanting to please him but not sure how. Jon’s hand came and wrapped around hers, squeezing her hand and guiding it the length of his cock a few times before he withdrew and Sansa continued the motion. 

 

“Oh Gods.” Jon moaned, pressing his lips on every part of her skin he could reach. She felt his hips thrust into her hand and her own hips involuntarily rose to meet them. “Sansa.” Jon’s voice was a whisper, a prayer, a question. 

 

“Yes.” Was all Sansa could answer as she widened her knees to accommodate him more, and guided him to her entrance. 

 

Jon moved slowly, pressing the tip of his cock into her at first. It wasn’t painful, Sansa thought, or exactly pleasurable. Just new. He pressed forward more and a hiss of air escaped Sansa.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Jon rambled into her skin, kissing her and holding still. 

 

“Jon.” She almost whined. “Please, don’t stop.” 

 

“I don’t want to hurt yo-” But Sansa had moved her hand down his back and grasped his arse, pressing him toward her.

 

“Jon.” She moaned again and Jon pressed forward until he was sheathed inside her. 

 

“Oh fuck, you feel good.” He muttered into her shoulder and Sansa almost felt like giggling. Jon never swore in her presence. They stayed like that for a moment, entirely and completely entwined before Jon began to move his hips. 

 

Slowly, carefully he withdrew, almost completely, before thrusting back into her and Sansa gasped in pure pleasure. Sansa’s hips rose to meet his for the next few thrusts, her body reacting to Jon’s. 

 

She peppered his shoulders, his neck, his jaw with kisses as he continued to thrust, one arm supporting him, the other grasping Sansa’s hip. Jon’s hand soon slipped around her hips, grabbing her arse, before sliding down to her knee. He pulled her knee up high around his waist and they both moaned at the new sensation this created. Sansa quickly wrapped both her legs around Jon’s waist, meeting his thrusts with her hips. Jon pace increased in speed, a pressure building in Sansa again at every thrust of Jon’s hips against hers. 

 

“Fuck. Oh Gods.” Jon was muttering into her neck. “ I - Sansa I think-”  

 

“So close.” She gasped into Jon’s ear. “Please, Jon. So close.” A few more thrusts and Sansa felt her body shudder and flutter and Jon’s soon followed.

 

They stayed like that for a moment. Their chests rising and falling, their bodies slick with sweat and still entwined. Sansa moved first, gently unwrapping her legs from around Jon’s waist, but wrapping her arms around his shoulder, moving until her lips met his. 

 

He kissed her back, but with less energy than usual. Slowly Jon maneuvered himself off of her. Sansa kissed his shoulder before standing and ducking behind the privacy screen to clean herself as her mother had advised. A little blood, she noticed as she quickly examined the rag, but not as much as she had feared. 

 

“May I have a rag please?” Came Jon’s voice from the other side of the screen, almost sheepish. Sansa suppressed a smile as she emerged. She handed him a damp rag and moved to the bed, pulling blankets and pillows off it before making her way back to Jon. Jon moved and arranged the pillows for them before settling back down and pulling her to his chest, and positioning the blankets over them both.

 

Her head rested on his chest, enjoying the rise and fall as he took a breath. 

 

“I love you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss onto her hair. Sansa smiled and moved to look into the eyes of her husband. Those lovely eyes, full of honesty and nobility. Those grey eyes that almost looked lavender sometimes. 

 

“I love you.” She replied before pressing her lips to his. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Jon stared at the burnt ruins that was now his home. 

 

The towers were blackened, meaning the stone work would have to be replaced, and most of the roofs would have to be restored, and the outer walls and defenses would have to be repaired, as well as the grainery and-

 

_ What had I gotten myself into? _ He wondered as the list of jobs and chores and expenses piled up before him. It was beautiful, Summerhall. The summer home of dragons, the holdfast of second Targaeron sons, the castle that was built in a time of peace and unity. 

 

_ Destroyed in mystery and flame. _ He almost jumped when he felt a hand slip into his. He looked to his left and Sansa smiled at him. 

 

“The architecture is beautiful.” She murmured and Jon looked back at their home, their ruin. He noticed the arched windows and the lace-like stonework acting as a shutters, he saw the broken mosaics of bygone seasons and the potential for fountains flowing with sweet scented water, he saw the warmth of the pink-red brickwork and the domed roof on the remaining tower. 

 

“We shall have to plant some flowers and some trees.” She gestured to the bare earth beneath a small balcony. And as Sansa’s hand moved, Jon could almost see the greenery grow, almost smell the scent of lemon, almost taste the fresh coriander. 

 

“And the fountain must be repaired.” Jon could see Sansa sitting on the edge, dangling her feet in the cool water, he could smell the fresh water and for a moment, he almost heard the laughter of children as they splashed about. 

 

“The Lord’s chamber should receive first attention.” Sansa continued. And Jon could smell the fire that would only be lit in the deepest depths of winter in this southern climate, he could hear the scratching of Sansa’s quill as she penned lovely long letters to her family, he could see her reclined upon their bed, her face contorted with the pleasure that only he gave her.  

 

She’d started to pull away, to walk toward their home, but Jon tugged her back to him. He pulled her until she was flush against his chest, her hand resting over his heart. 

 

“Jon.” She half scolded. “People are looking.” He kissed her. 

 

“Let them look.” He kissed her again. “Let them look and know their Lord and Lady love one another.”  She kissed him back. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sansa held the scroll in her fist as she walked quickly down the corridor toward the Lord’s chambers. She smiled and nodded to the servants and builders she passed but was not truly paying them attention. The words she had just read running in her mind. 

 

_ “Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer”  _

 

Sansa opened the Lords chamber and glanced around it, but Jon was not present. Both Ghost and Lady raised their heads from where they slept. ‘Jon can’t be far’ Sansa concluded by Ghost’s presence. For her husband’s direwolf, like her own was never far from him. She shut the door and made for the training yard. 

 

_ “By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty.” _

 

“Jon!” She called into the groups of squires and knights that trained at Summerhall. Sighing, Sansa soon found the Master-at-arms.

 

“Have you seen Lord Snow?” She asked, knowing her voice was more clipped than it should be. 

 

“I think he’s in the Godswood, my lady.” 

 

“Thank you.” Sansa spun on her heel and headed toward the small Godswood Jon and herself has planted not a week after arriving. Eddard had precured a Weirwood sapling and gifted it to them upon their departure South. 

 

_ The North remembers. _ He’d whispered to them both.  

 

“Jon!” She called into the young forest. “Jon!” 

_ “Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” _

 

“Jon Snow!” Sansa almost shouted. 

 

“Sansa?” she moved toward his voice and found him shirtless, digging the trench for the stream to run through the Godswood. Jon preferred to work on the Godswood alone. 

 

_ The Old Gods do not matter these people _ . He’d told her when she’s offered to organise some workmen for him.  _ It’s a place for the North. _

 

“Read this.” She handed him the scroll after he’d pulled a shirt back over himself and watched impatiently as his eyes scanned the page. 

 

“Have we received any other ravens?” Jon asked.

 

“Not a one. But I doubt Cersei and her advisors are sitting idly by.” Sansa began to pace. “We shall soon receive a summons from her demanding we bend the knee to Joffrey.” Her hands were shaking as she walked.  _ I want to be home _ . She thought.  _ I want to ask Father for advice and seek comfort in Mother’s arms and know Jon will not be alone if it comes to war.  _ Her hand flitted to her stomach for a moment.

 

“No word from your father?” Jon asked. 

 

“No. But he may not have received Stannis’ raven yet.” Sansa stopped pacing and turned back to her husband. “We shall have to declare for one or the other.” 

 

“Aye.” Jon took a breath. “Do you believe Stannis’ claims about the royal children?” Sansa bit her lip. 

 

“I- I do not know.” She moved closer to her husband, even in the heat of the south she craved his warmth. “Joffrey was never like King Robert in temperament or looks. But I do not truly remember much of Prince. I had a different, rather broody young man to occupy my thoughts when the King visited.” 

 

Jon smiled at her before he spoke. “We should return to Winterfell.” 

 

“We have a household depending on us.” Sansa replied. Jon reached out and cupped her cheek. 

 

“We shall not abandon them. But we need to be with our family. When the snow falls and the white winds blow-” Jon began. Sansa’s eyes met his eye as she finished the saying.

 

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to check out my Tumblr (jonsastan.tumblr.com) for an edit I made to go with this story!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are my bread and butter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think! :)


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